


As It Was

by HotCocoaaa



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alison Hargreeves to the rescue, Five is a clueless know it all, Gen, Guns, No Apocalypse, Real World Problems, They aren't used though, With her unwitting sidekick Diego, attemted kidnapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 10:23:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18071618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HotCocoaaa/pseuds/HotCocoaaa
Summary: Five is a(technically)a little kid. He’s a little kid that's constantly out on his own.So why is it such a shock when the real world comes a-knocking?Or, in which Five faces real world problems, and deals with the real world consequences. Luxuries may be nice, but once you've lost them, you can't keep pretending to live with them.





	As It Was

Five is  _(technically)_ a little kid. He’s a little kid that's constantly out on his own. Really, it only makes sense that he’s a target.

He’s on his way to do something (probably something illegal) and he’s stopped by an older man. He’s tall, and practically looms over Five.

He says, “Hey there, little man. Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

Five glares up at him, narrows his eyes in annoyance, and politely tells the man to “piss off, Mister. I’ve got shit to do,” and starts to shove past the guy, but one of the man's large hands on his shoulder stops him.

“Now wait here just a minute- is that anyway to talk to a worried adult?”

The patronizing words are drenched in artificial sweetener.

Five feels a shiver run down his spine.

“I’m sorry,” Five starts, his cheshire, double edged smile forming on his face. “But why, exactly, are you talking to me?”

The man tilts his head back a little, a smile bordering on a smirk resting upon his too thin lips; he chuckles a little.

“Well, I said, didn’t I? I’m a worried adult; why is someone as young as yourself out...alone?”

And as he speaks, his hand tightens on Fives shoulder, predatory eyes _gleaming_ , a familiar _click_ resonating in the air, and suddenly, it is not a game anymore.

Five looks up into this man's eyes, and sees nothing but _cruelty_ , as coarse and rough as sandpaper.

“Let me go, right now-“ Five demands, chessboard smile dropping from his face, but the man interrupts him. “You are going to come with me, quietly, and get into my car. Do you understand?” He says, just a notch softly, in a tone one would use to speak about something non-negotiable. The cold press of something hard and metallic to his side has Five stopping in true anxiety.

The opposition, the dangerous opposition, is brutal.

Five feels his chest fill with dread, as if his lungs are being filled with ice water.

“I said let go of me-“

“Do you _understand?”_ The gun digs into his rib-cage. The hand on his shoulder becomes painful.

Five can’t find an immediate out. His eyes dart, semi frantically, about this man’s face. With this stranger still making contact with him, he can’t jump for fear of the risk of taking this predator with him, or getting shot.

Mind racing, he weighs his options.

He can’t jump until Mr. Child Predator lets the fuck go, but something worse might be waiting for him at the supposed car. Like another man with a gun. Or chloroform.

He could raise a scene, scream and make a run attempt, but the man could always shoot him, or- and easily- play it off as being a concerned bystander, or even a guardian. Hell, he could probably get away with ‘ _Dad trying to drag his kid to school_ ,’ what with the damned uniform he’s got on. Swallowing hard, Five faces his soon to be captor, and stares down his only choice.

He exhales hard, feeling his nose flare and eyebrows lower. The man smiles.

It isn’t a kind smile.

The people around them continue to pass by, not a spare look or care in their direction. Five and this stranger are shadows, background characters to every person that passes. No one looks their way. 

Five spares half a second to fling rapid thoughts about the walls of his brain, racking half madly to figure out just which organization this man is with. Who sent him with that gun, those too thin lips, and shiny eyes. He can’t feel anyone else surrounding them. It’s wrong, somehow, he just can’t put his finger on it- 

And then it hits him.

This man is _normal_. Absolutely, completely ordinary.

The worst thing about all of this, Five thinks, is that once he’s looked past the surface, he _knows_ this man is ordinary. There are no backup guards, no hidden snipers, no secret com's on the clothing or ear of the man looming before him. Nothing to indicate he belongs to a secret organization; he probably bought the gun completely legally.

This is just an ordinary man.

And he has Five’s hands metaphorically twisted behind his back.

“Good boy. Maybe I’ll even give you an extra treat if you keep up the good behavior,” Mr. Ordinary says, the gun shifting against his sweater, and Five is disgusted, revolted, he feels dirty just by having this less than human’s hand on his shoulder-

Then they’re walking. The man's hand clamps down tighter as he walks, pushing the pistol harshly but discreetly into Five’s hip to speed him up. They turn around and steer towards the least non-threatening looking silver Nissan probably ever owned. Five breathes through his rising panic.

He’s been in worse situations, obviously, though being kidnapped by gunpoint at all isn’t exactly high on his to do list, nor ever done list. Well, at least he’s got another tick for Never-have-I-ever.

He thinks he might almost prefer a shootout with Hazel and Cha Cha. He feels...helpless, like this.

He chances a glance at the man grabbing him once again.

He’s got slight stubble, sort of long face, and light eyes. He doesn’t wear glasses, or any type of hat, though, contacts aren’t off the table; his hair is short and brown, with a little more on top of his head than the sides. His frame isn’t athletic looking, nor is he overweight. His face is plain, unremarkable.

Overall, he’s a lot like Leonard Peabody; in that, he doesn’t look dangerous in the slightest.

The grip on his shoulder loosens just a little for the hand to move down to grip his bicep, squeezing harder than necessary. Five isn’t proud to say the gesture makes his heart rate rise. Not to mention that at age thirteen, it’s rather painful. As they walk, the gun bumps a steady rhythm into his side; tap, tap, tap ,tap.

The car is only a few feet away, and the man has not let go once. Five wonders just how he plans to get his keys out, with both hands full, when his silent query is answered. The man, left hand clamping down harder on Five’s much smaller arm, takes his right and slowly puts the loaded and active gun back into his belt.

Five bites the inside of his cheek hard enough he tastes the beginning of copper.

The man reaches into his right back pocket, taking out his keys and sparking a nanosecond of a thought in Five, clicking then and unlocking the- thank god _empty_ \- car, and Five sees his window rapidly opening. The keys get shoved back into the pocket, and the next time Five opens his eyes after he blinks the gun is back to being pressed into his side.

“Alright, kid. You’ve been good so far- not a peep out of you. You had better keep that up through the drive there, you got that?” The man demands, voice honey sweet in its fakeness, and Five looks down to hide the glint in his eyes, nodding. Before the man can notice, he slips one arm discreetly around to the left back pocket in the guy’s jeans, where he can see his wallet’s outline. The man grunts out an “okay,” and opens the car door, moving the gun from his side while roughly shoving Five down and in, smacking his head on the roof on the way. He doesn’t notice Five taking the wallet with him.

The second the door closes, Five warps.

* * *

 

He lands with a thud in a rumpled heap on the academy’s living room carpet, behind the couches and in front of the bar, wallet clutched tightly in his hand.

‘ _Oh thank fuck- Delores, after that I need a drink.’_ He thinks, and makes to stand with shaky legs.

“Oh, hey Five- are you okay?” He hears someone ask, and whips around to see Alison sitting curled up on one of the fancy couches, glass of wine in one hand and a book in the other.

He presses the palms of his hands to his eyes for a moment, dragging them down his face while sighing gustily.

“ _Jesus_ \- you almost gave me a heart attack,” he mutters, taking a quick few steps as he jumps to behind the bar, ducking down to rummage through the liquor stores, shoving the wallet into a back pocket.

He can feel Alison raise an eyebrow from across the room.

“Drinking already? Five, it’s two in the afternoon,” she calls, and he can hear her close her book, her steps quiet as she walks across the room to sit at the bar. The clinks of glass as he goes through the various bottles of alcohol under the counter are sharp in comparison. He simply can’t find one that’s strong enough for his particular tastes right now.

“Believe me, it’s five o’fucking clock somewhere,” he grouses, and upon finding a bottle of opened rum, probably via Klaus, stands back up. He can’t get terribly drunk, just enough that he’s laid back and relaxed when he goes to turn in the wallet to the police.

He spins the cap off and gives it a flick, so that it flies straight past Alison’s head, her gaze following along with it as it wizzes past, before it smacks right into one of the decorative pots Reginald was so very fond of. The thing wobbles, and falls off its podium with a loud crash, shattering into ceramic shards. Five grins, and snickers a little, his shoulders shaking just a bit- although, whether it’s from the laughter or the reality, he isn’t quite sure. Then, he throws his head back and chugs a few deep swallows directly out of the bottle.

Slamming the glass onto the wooden counter top, he coughs for a second, leaning against the edge, breathing heavier than normally. His younger body isn’t used to the searing taste and burn of real liquor yet, even after all of his binges thus far.

Alison’s giving him a look already. One with her nose scrunched in distaste, her head tilted in curiosity and eyes focused in concern. It’s the look of a sister, but also one of a mother watching a child do something they really shouldn’t be. Five, currently, could not care less.

“So, what’s got you destroying pots and day drinking, old timer?” She asks. Five gazes wearily up at her, in opposition to his head that’s sinking down into his folded arms. He groans quietly for a moment, before sighing. Reaching back, he pulls out the wallet and gives it a few waves in the air.

“The guy that this belongs to.”

Alison raises an eyebrow again, and sips at her glass of red wine. “And how would that be?”

Five shrugs, and opens the wallet to pull out the ID card.

Huh. Hubert Reagan. How...Ordinary. _‘Just like Leonard Peabody,_ ’ his mind screams.

“Oh, just that regular old Hubert here tried to kidnap me at gunpoint a few minutes ago. Didn’t really work, obviously-”

He stops abruptly, head shooting up at the sound of shattering glass. He meets eyes with Alison, who’s got one hand hovering in the air where her glass previously was, the other halfway to falling from the counter top. Her eyes are wide and horrified. The wooden floorboards below them are now covered in glass shards, the wine quickly trickling along the cracks to the carpet a few inches away, slowly staining it a dark red.

“What?” She breaths, and reaches out her hands to clutch the edge of the bar. “You- someone, someone regular tried to _kidnap_ you? At _gunpoint_?” Her voice is sharp, almost strangled.

Five doesn’t quite understand.

“Uh...yes?” He scrapes out, knowing perfectly well why _he’d_ find it distressing but at a lack of why one of his siblings would. They all know just how perfectly capable of murder he is, and no one batted an eye at Klaus getting kidnapped- and then it dawns on him, that Alison isn't just a sibling, but a _mother_ . A mother with a child. A child around his physical age- not to mention, his _physical age._

“Oh,” he murmurs, and looks down and away, suddenly unable to meet scared brown eyes.

“And you’re alright?” Alison demands with a kind of desperation, eyes madly roving over what she can see of him. Five shrugs.

Alison shakes her head. “No, get over here, _now_.” She commands, voice a hair’s length above a yell as she points to the ground in front of her. Five scrunches his face in response to that.

“Do not give me that look, Mr. I hid a bullet wound for over three hours. Get your little ass here this damn instant.” Alison curses, voice shaking as she stands, and Five can only stare up at her face, her trembling lips, and take small steps from around the bar to stand in front of her.

Alison wastes no time in patting him down, looking him over for any sort of wound or bruise. Five withholds a sigh, and lets her look, moving his arms up and down and turning at her requests. He can’t physically not, with how...terrified she looks. Looked. It’s...startling, to say the least. Though, with all regard, he did almost die in front of her not terribly long ago.

After a good minute or two, Alison leans back up, but doesn’t take her hands from his shoulders, a gentle presence, one so in opposite from the man before.

“You’re really alright?” She murmurs, eyes still moving over his face as though a bruise will start forming if she dare looks away.

Five nods, ducking his head. “Yeah, I’m fine. He just grabbed my arm a little hard, is all.”

“And nothing else?”

“I mean, I smacked my head on the car roof but that’s fine-”

 _“Car roof?”_ Alison yells, and completely ignoring Five’s protests is back to spinning him around to drag her fingers through his already ruffled hair to check for a head wound.

“He got you into a _car?”_ She yells again, powerful voice box demanding answers.

“He had a death grip on my arm and a gun in my side; there was no way I could teleport away without dragging him along or getting shot! If I did, he would have just landed on top of me wherever I went- do you _know_ how heavy a grown man is?” Five shoots back, turning his head in an attempt to look at his sister only for her to jerk said appendage back to facing forward.

“You still should have tried! God knows if there had been someone waiting. Do you know how _stupid_ that was, Five? That you got into a car with this man?” She yells, for real this time, her shouts echoing down the hall as her long nailed fingers still press against his skull, searching for a wound.

They pull back suddenly, and Five can feel a burn starting on the side of his head from the touch. He groans, slouching, whipped back around by Alison who is holding up blood stained finger pads.

“I didn’t get into a car with him- _he_ shoved _me_ into a car, and I got away! With his ID, might I add-!” Five protests, taking the wallet from his back pocket to wave it in front of his sister, but Alison is having none of it.

“He hurt you, Five! And no, I do not give a shit if it was unintentional or not! I do not _care_ if you got away, with or without his ID!!” Alison shouts, voice rising and quaking as her words go on.

“I got out, didn’t I?” He argues back, and Alison only glares at him, further enraged.

“The point stands that without your powers, you would be trapped in a car with a _child predator_ with no way out and no way to call home, no _idea where you’d be heading to!”_ She screams, jerking her hands as her tone fluctuates. Five can only stand, floored, lips beginning to quiver as real heat shimmers over his eyes, eyes that he can’t take off of his sister. All his argumentative anger is drained out of him, all at once in a sudden moment. He swallows.

He knows she’s scared. He knows she has a point. A very real, point.

“Alison,” he starts, voice small compared to just how big Alison’s is, and she cuts him off again, her large large words covering the sound of boots thudding towards them from down the hall.

“I know you’re fifty eight! We _know_ you’re fifty eight! But the world doesn’t- and _do you think they’d care regardless?!_ You’re physically _thirteen_ ! You are legally a child, and you are _beyond_ naive if you think your powers will protect you from this kind of sadistic shit, Five!” Her hands clamp down on his shoulder again, shaking him. “When situations like this happen you _do not put your life on the line!_ You come to us! So help me if--”

“Why the _fuck_ did I hear the phrase child predator?” Diego interjects, coming to a halting stop from a run as he reaches to doors to the foyer; He takes one look at Alison, standing over Five mid shout, and Five himself, who has never felt smaller, and does a mild double take.

Alison looks up from her brother to look at the other one, emotional and angry. “Five almost got kidnapped, today. At gunpoint, no less.” She says. Her hands still do not leave Five’s shoulders.

Diego raises his eyebrows.

“Y-yes?” He stutters, surprised it’s such a big deal. Five winces, bracing for the inevitable.

Alison glares. “By a _normal_ , person, Diego. A child predator?” Say says, tone clipped, every word dripping with liquid nitrogen.

At that, Diego’s shock begins to bleed through. He turns to Five, who feels kind of terrible. He’s...forgotten, for lack of a better word, what it feels like to get yelled at. He feels truly thirteen again. Thoroughly chastised, and brutally aware of where his sister is coming from. With the perspective that the last time one of them was kidnapped, tortured for over a day, and no one knew, it’s rather an alarm bell upon hearing of another attempted kidnapping.

“Okay, first of all, I can see why this escalated, but second of all, why did this escalate? Five’s a big boy, isn’t he? He can fend off some sicko, yeah?” Diego asks, suspicion coloring his words with doubt as he looks from a very muted Five to a very bristling Alison.

Alison, in response, grabs Five by the collar and presses her hand none-too-gently to the side of his head where the cut is, and Five hisses in surprise, stumbling. She lets him go, but snatches the wallet out of his other hand, and he trips over his own two feet to crash into her side. Alison doesn’t even blink, just reaches down for a second to stead him, before she’s holding up both hands, one bloody and the other with the evidence. Stiffly, she says, “He got hurt, apparently _after_ he _got in a car_ with this” she shakes the wallet, “lunatic.”

Diego stiffens, and turns a murderous glare onto Five.

“Excuse me?” He says lowly, looking Five dead in the eyes. Five drops his gaze. He can’t exactly stand to meet his brother head on. Not for this.  

“You mean to tell me that you got into a car- _willingly_ , with someone who was trying to kidnap you? At gunpoint!?”

Having his sister yell at him for something he honestly deserves is bad enough; now Diego, too? They’re, quite possibly, two of the most protective out of their seven when it comes to children. And Five, in their eyes, even as he knows their minds know better, counts as a child.

It isn’t really fair that he can’t stop shaking, though. Don’t they realize that is just a little traumatic for him, too?

“I-” he swallow past the lump in his throat, hand coming up to rub the bruise he can tell is forming on his upper arm. “Look I know it was stupid,” he bites out, withering under both of their glares. He can’t bare to meet their eyes, and how funny is that?

Here he is, a dirt old assassin, and yet for once, he truly feels this body’s age.

“But I didn’t have a choice!” Raising his head, Five continues. “What would I have done? I’m walking and all of a sudden there’s this man, the perfect picture of average and well meaning simpleton, who’s got his _disgusting_ hand on my shoulder and cocked, _loaded_ gun to my hip, politely asking me _‘oh hey what the hell is a little kid like you doing out alone, huh?_ ’ and sure it _takes_ a minute to delve to threats but _what would I have done?!_ ” He snarls, voice raised and ending half desperate.

“Teleport away and get shot again? Or risk the extra weight throwing my jump into _outer fucking space?!_ I don’t know if you've noticed but the earth moves _kinda fucking fast!_ ” Five yells, and takes a breath. Alison looks like she’s about to cry, and Diego like he wants to kill something- or more accurately, someone.

“You could have screamed, or ran, or- or _something_!” Alison interjects, and Five throws up his hands.

“And what? Have him pull a ‘simple worried bystander’ just making sure everything’s okay?” Five scoffs, running his hands through his ruffled hair. “Or what about ‘Dad dragging his kid to a new catholic school,’ huh? I’m in a goddamned _uniform_ if you haven’t noticed!” Five pants, winded after so much yelling. He scowls, and moves a hand down to clutch at his arm tightly, despite the fact it isn’t real pain. Just left over phantoms.

“You could have punched him, dumbfuck, or smacked the gun- literally _anything_ besides getting into a car with this guy?” Diego argues tiredly, hands relocating to his head to run through his short hair as a small outlet for his tension.

Alison steps closer to Five, again, replacing her hands on his shoulders.

“Five,” she says, softly now. It looks like everyone’s done yelling. For the moment at least. She meets his eyes, and he can’t push down the unwanted tears shimmering in them. Why is he crying? For something this stupid? _Why is his damned body crying?_

“You got away, and that’s what important. But this? This is your life right now. You don’t have the luxury of being the only person on earth, anymore, nor adulthood. People are cruel, terrible beings,” she says, looking like she wants nothing more than to just...hug him. What an odd revelation.

“We care about you, you know. Evil organizations are one thing, but normal people are another. One Leonard was bad enough- we don’t need another one.” Alison murmurs softly, sadly, and Five hangs his head, the meaning of her words not lost on anyone.

“I’m sorry I worried you,” he murmurs, and lets himself fall into her arms, into the hug he knows she so desperately wants from him. Her arms wrap around him and squeeze tight, and it’s hard, not to stiffen from the contact at first, but he promised them, they all promised, to try and be better about _‘all this familia shit,_ ’ in Diego’s not so suave words.

On instinct, his child’s body’s or otherwise- he reaches up to clutch at the fabric of her shirt just below her shoulder blades. He hears Diego sigh, and just lets his head fall to Alison’s shoulder, feeling drained.

“Are _you_ okay, though?” Alison asks, and Five just slumps further.

“I think I’d prefer a shootout with Hazel and Cha Cha again,” he says in lieu of an answer. Alison gives a slight flick to his shoulder, and from beyond the light fabric of her shirt, he watches Diego give him a look, arms crossed. Five sighs.

“I guess,” he mutters into her shirt, and it’s not really an answer, but he’s never exactly been an open person. Deflecting is, quite possibly, all he’s ever known.

Alison pulls away, and hands him back the wallet. He takes it, and doesn’t meet her eyes.

“Were you going to turn this into the police?” He nods. “Okay,” she says, short and sure, and with her hands on her hips, Alison smiles.

“You want us to come with you?”

Five looks up from the wallet. Her face is vibrant, again. Strong, and sure. He smiles.

“Yeah. Sure.”

From a few feet away, already walking, Diego shakes his head, and calls, “I’ll drive!”

“And after, we’ll go do some real clothes shopping for you, okay?” Alison promises.

Alison has a point, Five thinks, feet walking in time with her own as she ropes an arm around his shoulders, both of them following Diego out to his old school car.

Maybe all this ‘ _familia shit_ ’ isn’t quite so bad.

He feels alright, now.


End file.
